Compulsion
by jalapeno bagels
Summary: At age 8, Harry finds out the truth about his parents - and the his temper causes his magic to explode. From then on, Dursleys go on with their lives without noticing Harry, his room, and the disappearance of food from the refrigerator. Harry delves into the world of magic unnoticed, and arrives at Hogwarts far more magically developed than anyone could've ever guessed.
1. Prologue

**Compulsion, Harry Potter **

_**Summary**_

_The Dursleys quite thoroughly abused young Harry, both verbally and sometimes physically. One day, eight-year-old Harry can't take it anymore, when he__ finds out his parents weren't drunks who died in a car crash. For the first time, Harry gets angry, and stands up for himself. Petunia and Vernon are incensed that this child has the nerve to back talk, and Vernon tries to hit him, causing Harry's temper to explode. In a wave of wild, uncontrolled magic, Harry orders the Dursleys to stop their abuse, and to ignore him. Compulsion magic forces the Dursleys to forget that Harry exists. From then on, Dursleys go on with their lives without ever noticing Harry, the room that he lives in and the disappearance of food from the refrigerator. Harry delves into the world of magic unnoticed, and, at the age of 11, arrives at Hogwarts far more magically developed and knowledgeable than anyone could've ever guessed._

**:::::_  
_**

I've probably had this story idea for at least a year and a half now! I've written the first chapter for this story at least three times, but to heck with it all. I figured short chapters with frequent updates is better than long chapters twice a year, haha. Writing longer chapters often makes me doubt myself, so this is my compromise. Hope you enjoy this!

**:::::_  
_**

_**Prologue**_

It was a fair August day – the sun shone merrily as the tips of the trees in the Forbidden Forest turned autumn gold and scarlet. A cool breeze blew into the window of the Headmaster's office, tickling Albus Dumbledore's beard and ruffling the scarlet feathers of a sleeping Fawkes. As he twirled his beard in his fingers while reading some official-looking documents, two knocks came on the door.

"Minerva, come in," the headmaster said, without looking up. A woman with her hair in a tight grey bun walked in.

"One of these days, I will figure out how you do that," the witch said, exasperated. It always mystified her how the headmaster always knew who was knocking. But Albus was fond of mystery, so it was likely she would never know.

"Do sit," Albus said, conjuring a squashy purple armchair with a swish of his wand. Minerva eyed it – this was normally the point where she would transfigure his odd armchairs into her favored rigid, straight back chairs, but she was already exhausted and so, sank into Albus's creation with a sigh.

"All the incoming first years have been enrolled," she said, with a bit of relief tinging her voice.

"Good good. No trouble with the muggleborns?"

"No, not this year, although there was one particularly inquisitive girl who asked me questions for nearly three hours," McGonagall replied.

"A likely future Ravenclaw then," the headmaster remarked.

"Perhaps," she said, inclining her head slightly.

"Harry Potter will be entering his first year," Albus said, twirling a finger around his beard, "What was his reply letter like?"

"Polite and brief; very similar to all the others. I inquired back whether he would need someone to take him to Diagon Alley, since he lives with those muggles, but he said he had been there before." At this, the headmaster's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The boy had traveled to Diagon Alley before? How unexpected!

"Well, I suppose I did not give the Dursleys enough credit! I thought they would inform him of only the imperative information surrounding the wizarding world and his situation, given their aversion to the magical."

"I thought Muggles could not see the Leaky Cauldron?" the deputy headmistress asked, perplexed.

"Petunia must have gone with Lily to Diagon Alley all those years back," Dumbledore mused, "Muggles who know the truth are not affected by the Muggle-repelling enchantments. Petunia must have finally turned around, for her to take Harry to Diagon Alley."

"Indeed, I misjudged them as well," McGonagall said, "They seemed, for lack of a better word, horrid, when I watched them in my animagus form that day, but I suppose first impressions are not always correct."

"This is good news indeed – Harry deserves a supportive family," Albus said, eyes twinkling, "And it also solves the problem of Harry's missing vault key. I had thought I misplaced it, but it looks like Harry must've had the goblins summon the key back."

The discussions turned to other students, and the headmistress returned to her work soon after, leaving Albus alone in his study.

Alone, the headmaster mused on the surprising detail in Harry Potter's reply letter. Albus had not expected the Dursleys to take Harry to Diagon Alley – it was a true change of character for the family, who had seemed so frightened of magic. He had expected Harry to be cared for, to be safe at Privet Drive, but had also expected him to have very little knowledge of the wizarding world. A trip to Diagon Alley spoke of a family who put aside their prejudice for the sake of their child. It heartened Albus to think that love could do so much.

_Little did the headmaster know how wrong his assumption was...  
_


	2. Chapter 1

Compulsion, Chapter One

**:::::**

Dust fell through the cracks of the stairs as Dudley stomped, causing Harry's eyes to fly open as he coughed. Blearily, his fingers fumbled for his eyeglasses as Petunia shrilly yelled for him to make breakfast. The eight-year-old boy quickly left his cupboard, blinking in the bright light of the day. Suddenly, he was on the floor, shoved aside by his Uncle Vernon, who then snarled at the boy to hurry up.

Harry scrambled to his feet, ignoring the lingering pain in his side where he fell, and pushed back the resentment in his throat. Quickly, he started making breakfast, plopping several strips of bacon onto the frying pan. As the Dursleys enjoyed a hearty breakfast, the scrawny, eight-year-old boy's stomach rumbled painfully. After the family was done eating, Harry was permitted to have a single slice of unbuttered toast that had been left over – 'Wouldn't want to waste good eggs and bacon on the boy,' Petunia muttered.

Soon Uncle Vernon was dropping off Harry and Dudley at school. As soon as Uncle Vernon had made his usual threat to Harry – 'Don't you dare try anything, you hear me?' – and the car had speed off, Harry let himself a small sigh. Dudley had already walked ahead of him, and Harry could hear him bragging to his friends about some new video game.

Finally, he could breathe. It was a blessing that this term he and Dudley were in separate classes. Still, he had to be careful. Dudley and his friends were very much the bullies of the school, and if Harry was in sight, he would become their next victim. But then again, Harry had always been rather good at hiding and running – he had to be, mostly because summers were a long game of 'Hunt Harry'.

School was a reprieve from Privet Drive. He didn't have any friends at school – Dudley had made sure of that – but none of his classmates were purposely unkind to him, his teacher would always smile at him (even if he caught the odd look once in a while), and without Dudley in his class, he could even participate occasionally. The look of approval on the teacher's face, although a flimsy substitute for the love of a family, helped drive Harry to do his best. He enjoyed learning new things in the class, and always worked diligently. No one laughed at his questions, called him a freak, or insulted him randomly. Unlike many of the other students who were at school, Harry truly valued being able to get an education.

_One day, with the things I learn, I'll be able to leave the Dursleys._

At school, Harry would even get to eat lunch. Petunia and Vernon complained about paying for it, of course, but there would be questions that would lead to child services investigations if Harry didn't have anything to eat at school. It was one of the few constant hot meals he had, and he always scarfed it down quickly, wary of Dudley 'accidentally' knocking his food onto the ground (which had occurred many a time).

Without Dudley in his class, Harry was able to read books without Dudley or one of his friends tearing it out of his hands and stomping on it when the teacher wasn't looking. He could lose himself in books, in tales of heroism, adventure, and happy endings. In books, he ventured across the seas aboard great ships, traveled the misty mountains, and flew across the sky on the back of a dragon. In books, he was a knight in shining armor, a witty child prodigy, a powerful sorcerer, a beloved king, or a proudly-looked upon son.

Most of all, he could pretend he was loved.

**:::::**

The young teacher smiled fondly at the black-haired boy, who was sitting in the corner reading thick books that sometimes seemed heavier than he was. The boy had an unusually high reading capability. While the other kids preferred to spend their free time at school running around and playing with toys, Harry liked to visit the school library and pick out books. The teacher would always be slightly astonished when she asked what he was reading. High fantasy books with complicated plot lines, historical mystery novels exploring age-old controversies, and nonfiction textbooks explaining the human mind – all seemed much too advanced for a boy of eight years. Although the black-haired boy was shy and almost never spoke up, he was eager to learn. Sadly, Harry did not seem to have any friends.

The teacher shook her head inwardly. There seemed to be some consensus among the kids that Harry was strange and weird. Unfortunately, children at this young age seemed to internalize just about everything they were told, and Harry's ability to focus and read for hours did stand out in comparison to other boys, itching to jump out of their seats.

Harry's hope to be included was obvious. She would often see the child looking longingly at the groups of children playing and laughing. But the teacher could not do much – forcing the other children to include Harry could only work a few times, and the kids resented it. Disturbingly, Harry seemed used to being an outcast among his peers. When she had spoken to his previous teachers, it was evident that many had not noticed just how bright the child was – they dismissed his reading skills and varied vocabulary because of his shyness, his tendency to stand on the sidelines of activities and how unwilling he was to speak with others.

At the same time, Harry's previous marks _had_ taken a bit of a roller coaster ride. Harry had achieved extremely high marks during his first term of his first year. There were comments on Harry's extraordinary reading ability and how he seemed to gobble up anything he could learn. Then, his marks took a drastic dip. Comments about laziness and reluctance appeared. When the teacher had seen these reports, she was shocked – it was so contrary to the boy she observed in class. But, whatever had gone wrong seemed to have righted itself. Harry's high marks had returned the previous term, and he seemed to be learning at an even faster rate.

It was a conundrum that puzzled the teacher – something must have happened to the child. Of course, she would probably never know. The child's guardians never showed up to any parent-teacher conferences, and Harry was much too shy to ever answer any personal questions.

**:::::**

_It was Harry's first year of school. Petunia and Vernon were sitting at the dinner table, holding two white envelopes. Harry's chest swelled at the thought of the proud looks they would bear once they saw his marks. _

_His teacher had congratulated him on earning the highest marks in his class. No doubt, the Dursleys would finally see that he wasn't a good-for-nothing freak. They would realize he wasn't going to be like his parents, those drunk fools he always heard about. Uncle Vernon had always told Dudley that it was important to be smart, that stupid people weren't good for anything._

_Aunt Petunia quickly slit open the envelope with Dudley's name upon it, and unfolded the paper, as Dudley sat sullenly. _

"_Duddykins, it's important to try hard in school," Petunia said with slight disappointment._

"_It's all just so hard," Dudley whined, "And the teacher doesn't like me." Vernon's expression soured._

"_Petunia, I told you I didn't like that woman – doesn't realize talent when she sees it! Remember, at the conference?" Aunt Petunia nodded. Her hands were now on Harry's envelope, fingers sliding under the paper flap._

_Finally, she absently unfolded the paper, as she and Uncle Vernon continued to disparage the teacher. Harry smiled as Petunia and Vernon finally glanced at his grades. In a few moments, they would finally accept him!_

_Aunt Petunia's hands shook slightly as she pressed her lips together thinly, and slowly, Vernon's face turned to a puce color, but Harry did not notice as he smiled happily at them._

"_I TAKE YOU IN, AND THIS IS HOW YOU INSULT ME?" Vernon roared, suddenly sending Harry plunging into fear. What had happened? His grades were top of the class, much better than Dudley's! _

_He hadn't been fool enough to hope for love, but he had wanted acceptance from them._

"_WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?" Harry trembled. How had all of this gone so terribly wrong?_

_Dudley's eyes suddenly gleamed with malice as Vernon angrily stood up._

"_He cheated. Harry cheated," Dudley said quickly._

"_I knew it!" Petunia yelled shrilly, "You stupid freak! You just wanted to make our Dudley look bad!"_

"_No! I worked hard! The teacher even said I was smart!" Harry said in protest._

"_YOU LYING LITTLE SNIT! HOW DARE YOU!" With that, Harry was shoved off his chair. Vernon swung his meaty fist at Harry, who quickly put his arms up, and closed his eyes, heart beating fast._

_A plate quickly flew in between Harry's arms and Vernon's fist. It was completely silent as the plate broke into three pieces and fell to the ground where Vernon had punched it. Harry opened his eyes, only to see a red faced Vernon who looked even more furious than before, if possible. Dudley was wide-eyed, as Petunia switched between expressions of extreme anger and one of alarm and perhaps even fear. A moment later, a screech broke the silence._

"_Y-Y-You little FREAK!" Petunia shrilly screeched, "I WILL NOT TOLERATE T-T-THIS FREAKISHNESS IN MY HOUSE!" Vernon stared to move quickly at Harry, who was lying on the ground._

_He attempted to get away, but Vernon was quicker. Harry yelled in pain as Vernon's foot connected with his rib. A sick cracking sound reached his ears. The thin boy attempted to quickly scrambled to his feet, but then Vernon, a full-grown man, easily swung his fist, knocking the child off his feet. _

"_HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ME! AFTER WE TOOK YOU IN FROM YOUR NO-GOOD PARENTS! I'M GOING TO TEACH YOU A LESSON!"_

_Harry let out a frantic sob as Vernon approached. Pain exploded in every part of his body, and soon he slid into unconsciousness._

Harry had spent a week locked in the cupboard afterward. The morning after, Petunia had called the school, explaining that Harry had injured while 'horsing around', and would be in the hospital. Of course, no such thing happened. He had spent much of those weeks in a haze of pain. Sometimes, when he finally had fell into blissful sleep, Vernon or Dudley would kick the door, hissing things like "That'll teach you, you little freak,' or 'Put a toe out of line ever again, and I promise it'll be much, much worse.'

Harry had known for a long time that the Dursleys would never love him. However, he had not been able to stop the small hope that, perhaps by showing his aunt and uncle that he was smart and not useless, they would accept him, or even just start tolerating him. This incident really hammered in the fact that no matter what he did, the Dursleys would despise him. His mere presence made them angry and annoyed.

This realization had been painful for Harry, and his small chest was racked with sobs before he even knew he was crying.

_Why? What did I ever do to deserve this?_

It was as if he was a representation of everything they hated. Aunt Petunia had said several times that Harry only reminded them of his alcoholic, good-for-nothing parents. Unemployed drunks, who had killed themselves in a car accident, only to push their kid onto the Dursleys. Harry wasn't sure any of this was true, but the amount of hatred the Dursleys projected toward him must've had it's roots somewhere.

Harry rolled onto his side, clutching his blanket. He wept bitter tears. Even if his parents were as bad as the Dursleys said, they could not have possibly been more horrible to him than the Dursleys.

_Mom... Dad... Why did you have to go and leave me in this hell? Why didn't you take me with you? _

**_:::::_**

Petunia had let him out twice a day to use the restroom, and shove a small bowl of food and a glass of water at him. Her angry eyes had bore into him suspiciously. For the first day, it had hurt too much to move. Harry had spent much of it drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes, he thought he saw his body glowing faintly, but put it off as hallucinations due to the fact that he had gotten hit in the head a few times.

But, by the end of the week, he had been all healed up, earning a few more shoves and glares from Dudley and Vernon for his 'freakishness'. It was at that point he learned something interesting.

The morning when Harry was finally let out of his cupboard, a peculiar event occurred. After making breakfast, Vernon told Harry to get the mail, as per routine. As Harry shifted through the mail, he noticed an envelope addressed to the Dursleys from the school. He plucked it out of the pile, and held it up to the light. It was a permission form for Dudley to attend some sort of school trip. Harry could suddenly taste the bitterness of the whole situation. Harry had never been allowed to attend school trips, mostly because Dudley would throw a tantrum about it. _The stupid pig and his stupid lies. Now he says I cheated when he's the one who cheats!_

Just then, a wild thought occurred to him. _Ha, what if Dudley was suspended? Little Dudders would be in a whole lot of trouble. _Harry closed his eyes, smiling as he imagined the reaction. Then, he suddenly flinched and dropped all the mail, startled at the heat in his hand.

_Why was that envelope so hot all of a sudden? _

"Where's the mail, freak? You're such a lazy little – "

"Coming, coming," Harry said loudly as he gathered up the pieces of mail. He gave the pile to Vernon, and then resumed frying a couple strips of bacon when Dudley screeched for more. The sounds of the sizzling fry pan, Dudley's obnoxious eating, and Vernon ripping open envelopes filled the small kitchen.

"Oh, something from the school," Vernon muttered. A minute later, the loud bang of Vernon's fist connecting to the table caused Harry to nearly drop his spatula.

"What is the meaning of this! Dudders, suspended for cheating?" At this, Harry did drop his spatula. It went clattering onto the floor, and Harry flinched, waiting for someone to yell, but no one seemed to notice – they were all in shock at the school letter.

_But – but that was permission form! And I had just been imagining Dudley getting suspended! Did I make that happen?_

The car ride to school was filled with furious grumbling from Vernon and Petunia, as well as a wide-eyed Dudley. No one seemed to notice Harry, and he was quite happy with that. Also, his stomach was filled for once. In the hubbub of anger and incredulousness, as well as Dudley's constant whine of "I didn't! I didn't!" and Petunia's shrill "The nerve! The nerve of that school!", the eggs and bacon were forgotten. Harry had furtively scarfed it all down as banging and stomping came from upstairs as the Dursleys rushed to give the principal a piece of their minds.

_Being ignored – I could sure get used to this,_ Harry thought as he hid a smile at Dudley's unusual silence and the lack of shoves and kicks.

That incident had been a year ago, and since then, there had been no problem with his grades. He had begun piecing together all those incidents – the suspension letter, the time he had turned a teacher's hair blue, when he had ended up on the roof of the school – and noticed that he could do these things that other kids couldn't.

It had been quite clear with the mail incident, since when the Dursleys had finally arrived at school, the principal, secretary, and teacher had frowned as they said no such letter had been sent, and no mentions of Dudley cheating had ever been raised. Finally, the secretary, shrinking from Vernon's glare, had conceded that perhaps an errant letter had been accidentally sent. The principal and teacher had seized upon this excuse to finally settle the matter.

It was obvious that Harry had somehow made the contents of that envelope change.

And since then, mail time became more fun. At least once a month, Harry made sure the Dursleys received odd mail – frequent shopper rewards from adult diaper stores, invitations for Vernon and Dudley to appear on weight loss television programs, and, perhaps the best yet, a rejection letter to Dudley for his submission to appear in a nude magazine. The last one caused Vernon and Petunia to walk around blankly for a few days, wondering about their parenting. Of course, Harry was careful – messing with the mail too often would create suspicion.

With the discovery of this ability, Harry didn't have to worry about his report card anymore– as long as he made sure he touched the mail first before handing it over to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, they would be pleased to see dreadful marks and scathing comments from the teacher. And everything always went according to plan, mostly because of Uncle Vernon's penchant for gleefully yelling at Harry to get the mail as soon as the boy had a chance to sit down to eat.

Sometimes, Harry wasn't too sure what to think of himself and these strange incidents. On one hand, these strange things he could were proof that he was different from others, that perhaps he was just as freakish as his aunt and uncle believed. On the other hand, it was all so _magical._ It was like he was a sorcerer, straight out of those fantasy books he enjoyed reading so much. He wasn't harming anyone, and as long as the Dursleys didn't find out, he didn't see how his abilities would adversely affect him. Besides, when did he ever share the opinions with the Dursleys? The fact that they didn't like it was enough reason to like it!

And so, Harry began to experiment. Like the young heroes of his novels, Harry wanted to explore the limits of this ability he had. When the Dursleys locked Harry in his cupboard that night, he took from his pocket a rock he had swiped earlier from the garden while weeding the flower bed. In one of the fantasy novels he had read, the sorcerer had the power to turn plain stones into gems.

Five minutes after the last footsteps were heard from upstairs, Harry began. He pulled on a string, and the light flickered on, dimly illuminating the cupboard. Quickly, Harry covered the crack of the doorway by hanging his blanket from a nail in the wood, so that if the Dursleys happened to walk downstairs (doubtful as it was), they would not notice the light from the cupboard.

Harry turned the rock over in his hand, rubbing his thumb over it. It was slightly smaller than his palm, black, and round.

He had already decided that he would try to make an emerald. An nice old lady at a supermarket had told him once that his eyes looked like the green jewel, and afterward, he had looked up the gemstone in a book.

The boy pictured the emeralds he had seen in the glossy pages of a geology book while holding the black rock in his outstretch palm. He stared at the rock with a fierce intensity, willing it to change.

Seconds passed, as the crickets chirped outside. The seconds turned to minutes, until nearly a half-hour had passed.

The stone remained the same. The boy sighed in frustration.

_Of course it wouldn't be this easy._

He tried four more times that night, sometimes holding tightly onto the rock, or holding it close to his heart, or trying with his eyes closed. Nothing changed.

He shoved the feeling of defeat aside.

_I'll try again tomorrow._

_**:::::**_

Unfortunately, when Harry woke up in his cupboard the next day ready for school, there was no loud footsteps or running water to be heard from upstairs. The young boy scowled when he sat up, and then realized the Dursleys would not be up for another hour. Harry hated weekends, unlike most children. While school was a chance for him to read books, eat a full meal during lunch, and learn new things, the weekend meant chores, yard work, and being left with Mrs. Figg and her cats while the Dursleys went out to shop, visited friends, or did other fun things that were forbidden to Harry.

Petunia would try to get as much cleaning and yard work out of him as possible, and if anyone was feeling particularly nasty that day, his punishment would be a missed meal.

The day turned out to be as bad as Harry thought it would. Petunia made him spend the morning repainting the fence, and the afternoon trimming the hedges. Harry hated trimming the hedges – the trimmers were long and heavy, and Harry was not just short _because_ of his age, but also short _for_ his age. The hedges were a little taller than him, so he spent much of the afternoon awkwardly maneuvering on a ladder.

In the early evening, the boy was cleaning up the trimmings when he heard the loud voices of Dudley and his friends. Harry groaned, knowing that more likely than not, they would try to start a game of 'Harry Hunting'. It was, after all, their favorite pastime.

Harry quickly cleaned up everything, throwing the cuttings into the compost and the tools and ladder into the garage. He had to make haste, so that the bullies didn't knock over everything and blame Harry for it. It was just in time, for a mere ten minutes later, Harry found himself racing down the street, with Dudley and his friends chasing after. Although Harry caught from the corner of his eye one of the neighbors walking their dog, he knew that the man would be of no help; the neighbors only saw what they wanted to see – boys playing a game, and he, the smallest one, of course perpetually being 'it'.

The air was tinged with the chill of the approaching night, and the sun was starting to set. Although Dudley was slow and lumbered behind the group, Piers, with his wiry body and ratlike face, was rather fast – not as fast as Harry, but enough to keep up. Terror fueled Harry as he ran and ran. Dudley seemed particularly nasty this time, probably since he had broke his television earlier when he had became frustrated with his video game. Another boy, a friend of Dudley's, Gordon, was running with a golf club in his hand, and Harry refused to even think about how badly that would hurt.

A wave of fear cascaded over him, and he grit his teeth and closed his eyes as rounded the corner, and then ran faster and faster – _if he could only be in his cupboard, safe and sound –_ and suddenly, there was a squeezing sensation, and a faint popping sound.

Gone were the footsteps on pavement behind him, the chilly breeze, the streets of neat houses. Instead, he stood in the corner of his cupboard, where if he was only a few inches taller, he would have hit his head. Harry let out a breath he hadn't know that he had been holding. He reached to turn on the light, and looked around, dumbfounded.

_What-What happened?_

Harry pushed open the unlocked cupboard door, peering into the hall. He could hear the sounds of the television, and Vernon grumbling every once in a while to Petunia about the state of the country. Harry walked up to the door, peering out the window of the door. He could see Dudley and his gang further down the street, looking confused.

_I hope Dudley didn't realize what happened, or I'll be locked in the cupboard for another week for doing something 'freaky'._

Half an hour later, when Dudley stomped in, he threw a vicious glare at Harry. Checking to make sure his parents weren't around, he hissed, "I don't care how fast you run, I'll get you next time." Harry smirked at Dudley, who was huffing and puffing from the physical exertion as he stomped up the stairs.

It was only then that Harry felt the euphoria rushing through his veins. He discovered something new! Sure, he hadn't been able to turn stones from gems, but that wouldn't have done much good for him. If he had tried to sell the gems, he would've been called a thief. Being able to teleport was so much better, and he already had ideas for what he could do.

**:::::**

It was hard to hide his smile when Uncle Vernon had glared at him angrily and told him that Mrs. Figg would be unable to watch him. The Dursleys had been invited to Uncle Vernon's supervisor's dinner party, and since there was no one to watch him, the Dursleys had decided on locking Harry in his cupboard for the evening.

"No funny business now, you hear me boy?" Vernon said, growling, "If I come back to the house and a single thing is out of place, it'll be on your head." Harry stopped himself from rolling his eyes. They were locking him in the cupboard, what in the world did they think he could do? Of course, they didn't know about his new teleporting ability, but honestly.

"Now, here's your dinner," Aunt Petunia said, shoving two pieces of bread with a piece of limp cheese in the middle in plastic wrap into his hand, and then closing and locking the cupboard, leaving Harry in darkness. There was the clip-clop of Aunt Petunia's high heels, steps running up the stairs as Petunia made Vernon switch his wristwatch for a fancier one, and then finally, the shutting of the door, and the sound of the car starting up and backing out of the driveway.

_Finally._

Harry closed his eyes, and there was a popping sound, and Harry found himself outside his cupboard.

Harry smiled. This was the second time he had tried this, and truth to be told, he had grown anxious over whether it would work again. Although he had desperately wanted to experiment with teleporting all week, he had been too scared that people would catch him. Now, there would be no one interrupting him for at least three hours.

He glanced at the smushed cheese sandwich in his hand, and _popped_ into the kitchen. Well, the first order of business would be to make a tastier dinner.**:::::**

**The 'review' button on is actually a secret portal that sends hugs and cuddles of appreciation to authors. It also provides a care package of cookies and ice cream when authors experience the dreaded writer's block, as well as pokes to continue writing.**

**Click 'review' today to make your preferred author's day full of sunshine and rainbows.**


End file.
